


Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel

by purple_bookcover



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Angel/Human Relationships, Bathing/Washing, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, Haikyuu Big Bang 2020, M/M, Marijuana, Non-binary Oikawa, Oral Sex, Other, Pining, Rimming, angel!Kenma, idiots to lovers, non-binary characters, non-binary kenma, they're angels ok they don't need gender, very background Kenma/Oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: Kenma is a bored, lazy angel. They intend to guide Kuroo, but end up kind of sort of ruining his life instead.It's Kuroo who becomes the one taking care of the odd, beautiful angel who dropped inexplicably into his life and turned it into a wonderful disaster.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 22
Kudos: 128
Collections: Haikyuu Big Bang 2020





	Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic for the Haikyuu Big Bang 2020! I have been working on this for _so long_ and haven't been able to say a word or show previews or anything. Ah! I'm so excited about this story. I watched a really silly show about angels one day and it inspired this incredibly crack-y angel/mortal AU. I love these pining idiots to lovers. 
> 
> [LINK TO MY PARTNER'S INCREDIBLE ART](https://twitter.com/Lady_tyburn/status/1365767221381890049). I will also link it in the end notes if you want to avoid the mild spoiler.

Heaven was boring.

Kenma sprawled across the space between spaces, the cloud-like void of comfort they would inhabit for eternity, and watched the humans in the world below. They moved about with such urgency, such _importance_ , as though their brief little lives mattered at all. It was charming, in a way. 

Kenma flicked a finger. They didn’t need to. There was no need for physical bodies here. Yet they got a certain satisfaction out of the motion. Did it look human? How mortal-ish could they make it seem? 

When Kenma flicked, a puddle splashed down right in a woman’s path. She yelped as dirty water splattered up to her ankles. Kenma flicked again and a bird left a gift on a bald man’s head. Again and a crack appeared in a sidewalk just in time for a child to trip over it. 

“Seriously, Kenma?” 

“What?” Kenma adopted a form, of sorts, and rolled onto their back to face the angel approaching through the nothingness of their bright, scorching eternity. 

They were beautiful, of course. All angels were beautiful. But even among angels Oikawa tended to choose forms that were exceptionally beautiful, with all the flowing white fabric and gaudy, enormous wings fluffy with feathers that mortals enjoyed imagining. 

Kenma chose quieter, subtler forms: White cats with mismatched eyes, a curling vine with pale flowers, a slender, unremarkable mortal with pale yellow eyes and black hair bleached at the tips. 

Oikawa settled near them, folding all six great, glowing wings around themself like a cape of white feathers. 

“You play with them too much,” Oikawa said.

Kenma shrugged the bony, thin shoulders they’d chosen. The form served as a jarring contrast to Oikawa’s resplendent visage. Plus: It annoyed the heck out of them. 

“We are still tasked with guiding them, you realize that, right?” Oikawa said.

Kenma huffed a laugh. “We haven’t guided humans for centuries, by their count. There’s far too many of them and besides, what’s the point?”

“The point is to show them the correct path,” Oikawa said. 

“Pfft,” Kenma snorted. “Correct. Incorrect. What does it matter? They live for, like, three seconds and then it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m just having some fun.”

“Your fun is going to disrupt the balance,” Oikawa said. 

They were getting irritated, voice tightening with frustration. Good, Kenma thought. Perhaps this little breath of timeless void would actually be amusing.

“Oh please,” Kenma said. “I’m not going to disrupt anything with puddles and bird shit. They’ll write some Buzzfeed article about 25 ways to tell if you’re being haunted and move on.” 

Oikawa sighed. It was such an intensely human gesture, even when it emerged in a thousand musical voices all at once. They really must have been spending time doing some of that all-important “guiding” to pick up a mannerism like that.

“Hey, it can’t be worse than just hanging around here, right?” Oikawa said. 

Kenma attempted to roll their eyes, but that particular mortal maneuver still eluded them. They ended up just feeling dizzy for a moment, which was somewhat novel in and of itself in an afterlife free of pain, stress or worry. 

“Fine,” Kenma said. 

Oikawa’s wings rustled. “Really?” 

“Yeah, sure, why not? You’re right. It won’t be more boring than sitting here listening to you.”

“Hey—”

Oikawa might have started to scold Kenma again, but Kenma did not stay to hear it. They melted through the blinding light, shifting across planes, across realities. Time took on a heft, a weight. It pressed in on all sides, present and demanding. The light faded. The nothingness filled. Sounds, smells, structures – these humans had so much _stuff_ around them all the time. How did they stand it? How did they not get overwhelmed?

Kenma paused in the space just before the mortal plane. It left them invisible to humans, living ones at least, and allowed them to adjust to the strange surroundings. 

It always took a moment to “fit” into this place, especially when Kenma had been avoiding it for a while. Everything was too much for a moment. Too loud, too big, too smelly, too busy. Settling into it was like shifting into a new form and finding that one foot was on backwards. Sure, Kenma would be able to walk eventually, but for the moment it was uncomfortable and disconcerting. 

They took several breaths, several human breaths. The air was pungent here, a wild contrast to the cool nothingness of the heavens. It wasn’t necessarily bad. Spices, trees, perfumes – these were all pleasant enough. But it certainly wasn’t all good, either. The cars were the worst, Kenma thought. Big, loud, fast, roaring in Kenma’s soft new ears and choking them with that horrible spew that tasted like the ashy grit of the underworld. And humans _chose_ to live with the damned things. What bizarre creatures. 

Kenma settled fully into the mortal realm, still hanging back enough not to be seen. Guidance didn’t require visibility, thankfully. Kenma could slip through the humans, watching from up close, tweaking with little touches. 

They guided a cat out of a tree. They prevented a coffee cup from spilling. They retied an errant shoelace. That last one was the most fun. It had been a long time since Kenma had tried to tie things. The human would likely find it a knotted up mess later, but for now it kept them from tripping. Mission accomplished? 

They were feeling quite good about this whole business of guiding, of being an “angel,” when they came across a restaurant. It wasn’t terribly remarkable, just a little storefront tucked into a row of similar storefronts. Tables shaded by umbrellas sat outside, with more tables crowded together indoors. The humans packed so close together it was a wonder they weren’t constantly crashing into each other. 

Red and gold stripes adorned the umbrellas and the servers’ aprons. One server walked out now, plates balanced on his arms. His hair stood up in jagged black spikes, making him look even taller than he already was. He swaggered to one of the tables, delivering the plates with a flourish and a feline grin. 

“And for the little lady,” he said, placing a dish before a woman already furiously blushing. “Is there anything else I can get you?” 

The woman shook her head. “No, it’s all wonderful.”

“Glad to hear it,” the server said. “Well, if you find you need anything at all, my name’s Kuroo. Give me a shout.” 

He winked before turning away and sauntering back into the restaurant. The woman watched him the entire way. The moment Kuroo was gone, she turned urgently to her friend.

Kenma now wore a very human smirk. Oh, this mortal would be fun. This mortal would be very, very fun. 

Kenma trailed Kuroo for the rest of that earth day. The light started to grow dim, but the human just kept on waiting tables, chatting with every customer, leaving more of them blushing than not. 

Kenma couldn’t help wondering why Kuroo put so much effort into this strange ritual of charming each customer. Weren’t these humans here to eat? The play seduction had to have some benefit, right? Or perhaps he just found it amusing, the way Kenma found it amusing to observe him. It wasn’t deceitful, not exactly, but it was something just on the edge of that, a gray area that Kenma found absolutely fascinating.

At some point, the apron went away. The human stopped bringing sustenance to tables and instead packed up bags and boxes. He got on a bicycle and Kenma had to hurry to keep up as he biked around the city delivering food. My, but he was a busy human. Why was he always so busy? Didn’t he ever rest? 

Kenma felt exhausted just watching his frantic bustle. It was getting tiresome to observe. The next time the bicycle returned to the restaurant and Kuroo went inside, Kenma pricked a hole in the tire and drew out the air. There, that should keep the human in one place so Kenma could watch him.

But something went wrong. When Kuroo came outside and found his bike tire deflated he didn’t stay at the restaurant and go back to serving food. While Kenma watched, he shouted at another person, their argument eventually loud enough to gain the notice of some of the customers. Then he threw his hands in the air and left the restaurant, dragging the broken bicycle with him. 

Kenma followed, confused. 

“God damn it,” Kuroo muttered. “What a time for some asshole to slash a tire. Seriously. What the fuck?”

He went on, employing a slew of language Kenma made a mental note of for later. It was certainly more interesting than the last time they’d been down here talking to humans. God, their languages changed so quickly. 

Kenma hung back, watching for a bit as Kuroo grumbled and dragged the bicycle along. This should have been fun, a moment of entertainment among a dreary existence, but Kenma was feeling less and less amused as Kuroo’s shoulders slumped and his head hung heavier. 

Kenma turned away and started melting into the fabric of other realities, slipping into a more comfortable plane of existence. This wasn’t fun anymore.

#

“I saw what you did to that human’s bicycle.”

Even in the form of a puddle of water, Kenma struggled not to groan. They shifted almost unconsciously into a more familiar shape, the small human with the bleached hair. Oikawa wafted down before them, eight great wings jostling and folding to fit around them. Gaudy buffoon. Why willingly choose such a cumbersome shape? Out of pure pettiness, Kenma added two full and feathery but still rather modest wings to their form.

“Well,” Oikawa said.

“Well what?” 

“What do you have to say for yourself?” 

Kenma nearly rolled his eyes. Oikawa was making them a pro at that particular human tick. Angels did not have parents in the way of mortals, but Oikawa had an annoying habit of acting like a fretting father figure. 

“Nothing,” Kenma said.

Oikawa folded their arms over their chest. “Seriously?”

“What?” Kenma said. “It was a just a bicycle.”

“And yet it caused the mortal great distress,” Oikawa said. 

“So what? He’ll move on.” 

“Ah, I suspect he may not, though.”

Kenma tried to hold their ground but Oikawa was glancing aside, gazing through the various planes of existence to observe Kuroo. Reluctantly, Kenma followed their eyes and sure enough they got a glimpse of the human with the outrageous hair. He didn’t have a bicycle now. He wasn’t at the restaurant, either, flitting from table to table like a lanky bird, charming the other humans so they’d leave him more currency. 

No, now he was … he was alone. He sat in a tenement, a small box of a home, and peered down at a handheld telephone. Kenma understood that humans were quite enamored with the objects of late, but Kuroo didn’t look like he was enjoying himself. He looked bleak, gray. His eyes were glazed, like he was half-asleep, his whole face quiet and neutral, in contrast to all the vibrancy and life Kenma had seen in it before. 

Kenma hardly realized they were getting closer, sliding across the planes, but soon only one separated Kenma from Kuroo, like a pane of glass only Kenma could see through. Oikawa was gone, having wandered off or simply not followed, but Kenma didn’t care. They kept observing the human, getting as close as they dared, stepping into his cramped tenement. 

Aside from the couch where Kuroo sat gazing at his phone, there was a television, a tight little kitchen with take out boxes stacked on the counters and a curtain. When Kenma slipped through the curtain, they found a mattress on the floor and piles of clothing. 

Was this truly it? Kenma had certainly seen humans in worse living conditions, but Kuroo was in a wealthy part of the world. Surely, he had more than this little box full of other boxes. 

They drifted nearer to Kuroo, standing in the furniture to peer closer at the human. Kenma was still a plane away, able to move through objects in Kuroo’s world, invisible to mortals (except cats. Somehow they always noticed. Heaven was still working that one out). Even so, Kuroo shivered when Kenma drew near, as though sensing their presence brush cool against his skin. He shifted just a bit away from Kenma, even checking over his shoulder, but his perception slid right through the angel. 

When Kuroo settled again, Kenma leaned close to look at the device in his hands. There were some pictures, some words, but Kuroo was making them flash by on the screen. When his finger rubbed the phone, all the words and images moved away and a new batch appeared. Kenma could read every human language ever invented, but they somehow could not read this. They got one or two words at a time, a picture of a cat, a moving picture of humans dancing. Then Kuroo pushed it away with his finger.

What was the point of this? If Kuroo wasn’t reading or looking at any of this, why did he continue to sit here just staring at it? 

Kenma backed off. Kuroo relaxed his shoulders a little, as though comforted by the additional breathing room. 

Kenma spent some time like this, just meandering around the human, observing him from multiple angles, watching him tap and tap and tap at that screen in his hands and never seem to get any joy or interest from it. It was some of the strangest human behavior Kenma had ever witnessed, and they’d certainly observed their share over the course of their long, long existence.

It went on so long Kenma grew restless. That was no mean feat in this realm. In heaven, sure, there was endless time to feel bored about. But here among mortals Kenma could usually find something worth their interest.

They withdrew, that prickle of discomfort washing over them again. Why did this human make them so uneasy? 

They asked Oikawa, regretting the question the moment they vocalized it. 

Oikawa wore the form of a snowy white tiger, but they still managed to smirk, tail swishing. They lay regal and languid among the heavens. 

“I believe it is what humans called depression,” Oikawa said. 

“I know what depression is,” Kenma said. 

“Well then why did you ask?” 

“Because his behavior is confusing.” Kenma huffed. “I shouldn’t have bothered. You’re no help.”

“And you’re still wearing your human form,” Oikawa said. 

Kenma shifted into a breath of air, just to spite Oikawa. Plus, it would conceal human emotions. It was somewhat comforting taking on the ethereal shape of the formless void they’d spent eternity in. Oikawa could sense them, yes, but they could not see Kenma with those tiger eyes they’d chosen for the moment. 

“You depressed him, Kenma,” Oikawa chided.

“I didn’t do it.”

“You did. You broke his bicycle and he lost his employment and now he’s depressed. That’s your doing.” 

“It was your idea for me to go ‘guide’ the humans.”

“And how did that imply you should damage their belongings?” Oikawa said. 

“Well, what should I do about it?” Kenma said. They didn’t even realize they’d resumed their human form until they threw up their hands in exasperation. 

Oikawa shifted as well, human but with with two massive wings splayed around them. They paced to Kenma, setting a hand on their shoulder. 

“Go fix it,” Oikawa said. 

Kenma rolled their eyes. “Sure. Yeah. Simple. I’ll just fix it.”

“It isn’t that hard,” Oikawa said, “if you actually try.” 

Kenma grit their teeth and did not respond. Oikawa’s hand still rested heavy on their shoulder. It wasn’t hard for Oikawa, sure, but Oikawa was the … what would humans say? The king of angels, if angels could have kings. The best of the best. An all-star. Whatever other titles meant that Oikawa was far better at this than Kenma would ever be. 

“Fine,” Kenma said, mostly because Oikawa was still there and was still gripping their shoulder and was still just _smiling_ at them with that smug human face they liked to wear. 

“I look forward to hearing of your successful efforts,” Oikawa said and finally released Kenma. 

Kenma grumbled as they returned to the mortal plane.

#

Kenma wandered the streets of the city where Kuroo resided with their hands shoved in their pockets. It was easier to stay invisible to mortals, so they hung back a plane and did that, even though they wore a human form and walked on the sidewalk like any other human might.

They passed the restaurant where Kuroo had worked. “Help Wanted,” read a sign on the door. Yet they did not want Kuroo’s help for some reason. 

When Kenma passed into the building, they found a few humans inside, some of them apparently workers at the restaurant. They listened, trying to pick up any helpful bit of conversation, but all they overheard was “short-handed,” “really screwed up,” “terrible timing” and the like. Nothing that told Kenma how exactly Kuroo might regain his employment. 

They tried Kuroo’s home next. They were surprised they remembered the way, but it was actually quite close by. 

Kuroo was still sitting around with his phone in his hand. “Depressed,” Oikawa said, but he mostly looked bored. Was that the same? No, Kenma was pretty sure there was a distinction, though they sometimes found it difficult to discern the particulars. For a being who’d had millennia to observe humans, Kenma still sometimes felt utterly lost trying to understand them.

OK, baby steps, right? That’s what humans said about complicated problems and it seemed to work well enough.

Kuroo needed a job. To get a job he needed a bike. To a get a bike he needed… Well, Kenma wasn’t sure about that one but it couldn’t be that difficult. Get a bike and the human will stop being depressed. Plan settled.

Kenma drifted away, exploring the building Kuroo lived in. There were several other homes in the building, all quite small, as it turned out, though many were neater than Kuroo’s. It took Kenma a few tries before they finally came across one tenement with a bicycle in it. The human it belonged to stood in their kitchen, humming as they cooked. The bicycle sat on a little balcony, rust lining much of the metal.

Kenma passed their hands into the mortal realm just enough to touch the bike and drag it backward. They paused when they had the bicycle with them, but the human cooking in the kitchen did not react to the disappearance. See? Simple. They human didn’t even want this particular bicycle. 

Kenma was feeling rather proud of themself when they dragged the bike into the hallway and pushed both themself and the vehicle into the mortal realm. They strode up to the door belonging to Kuroo and knocked. Kuroo did not answer and Kenma grew impatient. Finally, they knocked again, harder. It was nice feeling the sting of something solid against a human hand. It’d been a while since they’d bothered with tactile sensations, but Kenma recalled that they could be nice from time to time.

Kuroo answered at last, yanking the door open. He startled when he saw Kenma there in their chosen human form, slight and unassuming, black hair bleached at the tips, eyes golden. 

“Uh, can I help you?” Kuroo said. 

“I have gotten you a bicycle,” Kenma said.

“Excuse me?” 

Kenma pushed the bike at Kuroo. “This is for you. It is a gift.” God, it was strange talking out loud with a human voice that they could feel in their throat and nose and mouth. So many sensations all at once just from this. How did humans deal with it all the time? 

“Who the hell are you?” Kuroo said. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kenma said. “Just take it. You need it, right? For your employment.”

“For my... What the hell is this?”

Kuroo stepped closer, eyebrows knotting up. Kenma hoped this meant he was about to accept the vehicle, but Kuroo jerked upright and snatched the bike away, cursing and muttering. He rushed down the hall, pushing the bike along, until he set it against the wall just outside the tenement Kenma had taken it from. 

“What are you doing?” Kenma said.

Kuroo startled as though he’d forgotten Kenma’s presence. 

“This isn’t mine,” he rasped. “How did you get this? Did you steal it?” 

“That human wasn’t using it,” Kenma said. “And you need it.” 

“Fucking hell,” Kuroo hissed. 

He grabbed Kenma by the wrist, hard, a bit too hard, then knocked on the door of the tenement. Kuroo ran, dragging Kenma behind him. He flung them both into his tenement, slamming the door shut. 

Kuroo practically threw Kenma across the room, rushing to lock the door. He pressed his ear against it and held very still.

“What are you doing?” Kenma said.

“Shh,” Kuroo said, waving a hand. “God, they’re going to kill me if they think I took that damn bike.” He listened a while longer, eventually sighing and relaxing. 

He grew tense again when he whirled to face Kenma. 

Kuroo set his hands on his hips. “OK, buddy, just who the fuck are you? What was that?” 

Kenma floundered for words. They weren’t sure how much they could explain without just confusing Kuroo, but beyond that, they weren’t exactly sure why he was so angry, why there was so much slamming and shouting and cursing going on. 

Kuroo stomped up to them, looming over the form Kenma had chosen. “Seriously, what is your deal?” 

“I...” Kenma wasn’t sure what to say besides the truth. “I ruined your bicycle.”

“What? It had a flat tire.”

“Yes, that was my fault.”

Kuroo’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re trying to make up for that by stealing my neighbor’s bike?”

“Ah, stealing. But does it count if they weren’t using the bike? You need it and they do not.” 

“What are you even talking about?” Kuroo said. “Of course it’s still stealing.” He pressed his fingers against his head as though Kenma’s every word pained him. “What is happening right now? Is this real? Am I hallucinating this? What are you, dude?”

“An angel.” 

Kuroo barked a laugh, startling and loud, so boisterous Kenma reeled back a step. 

“An angel ruined my bike then stole me a new one,” Kuroo said. “Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“Yes.”

“OK. Look, I don’t know what hospital you broke out of, but show me your ID or something so I can help you get back. Clearly you are not where you’re supposed to be.”

Kenma could agree with that at least. Passing into the mortal plane had clearly been a mistake, if Kuroo’s reactions were anything to go by. 

Still, Kenma couldn’t resist a parting shot. Kuroo seemed reluctant to accept their help or believe anything they said. If Kenma was going to fail in this task and have to put up with Oikawa’s gloating, they might as well fail spectacularly. 

Even as they started to fade out of the mortal realm they adapted a different form. Their skin turned almost transparent, so suffused with light Kuroo shaded his eyes. They sent eight magnificent wings sprouting from their back, crowding Kuroo’s tenement, knocking trinkets off of tables and counters. The feathers would be stuck in the carpet for days, but the impact right now was what really counted. 

And what an impact.

Kuroo gave up shading his eyes and stuttered back, mouth dropping open wide. He stumbled, falling to his knees, issuing strangled little noises that Kenma worried might be real distress. 

Kenma faded. They wouldn’t gloat too long. It might harm the human. But they did get some small satisfaction out of Kuroo’s trembling and his muttered, “What the _fuck_ , dude?” even as they faded further and further, deeper into realms Kuroo could neither imagine nor touch, until they were totally gone, leaving fluffy white feathers throughout Kuroo’s tenement.

#

“Hey, if you’re an angel could you, like, help me out here?”

Kenma sighed. Kuroo had been at it for days now. He had so many damn requests, so many _needs_. 

The awe shtick had worked – at first. Kuroo was suitably impressed by Kenma’s display. As far as Kenma could tell, the human spent a fair chunk of time just contemplating what had happened in his tenement. 

Then he got over it.

Kuroo was resilient, even for a human. He shook off his shock after a short time (how short, Kenma had little concept of). That’s when the damn requests started. 

“There’s feathers in the carpet. What do you expect me to do about these?”

Kenma had ignored it. Carpets were not their problem. 

“My neighbor thinks I tried to steal their bike, you know. They’re pissed as hell.”

Kenma didn’t quite understand “pissed as hell,” but the anger in Kuroo’s voice was a sufficient explanation. 

“I’m still broke. If you’re an angel can you, like, poof me some money at least? I deserve damages for what you did to my apartment, you little shit.”

Kenma actually did heed this one. A quick trip to the mortal realm and a bit of fiddling resulted in a bag of coins. Kenma spent an afternoon arranging them in a delicate pyramid on Kuroo’s table, a shiny, tottering pyramid that scattered into a noisy mess when Kuroo opened his door later that day.

“Yeah, _really_ not what I meant,” Kuroo grumbled. 

Some of it was amusing, but having a human constantly calling on them was beginning to lose its novelty. Kenma was tired of the nagging and pleading and blaming. One human life was not their responsibility. It had been a grievous mistake to reveal themself to this Kuroo; now he knew how to address his complaints directly to Kenma.

Naturally, Oikawa noticed.

“Still toying with that human, hm?” Oikawa said.

Kenma rolled over, fading into intangible wisps of light as they did. 

“You know I can still perceive you,” Oikawa said. They wore their resplendent, many-winged form. Of course. 

Kenma grumbled but did not reply.

“You made quite the mess, you know,” Oikawa said. “He seems quite troubled.”

“Wouldn’t know.”

“Wouldn’t you? He seems to have several requests for you of late.” Oikawa hummed at something they observed below. Curiosity prickled at Kenma, but they stubbornly refused to indulge it. “You’ll have to answer eventually.”

“He’ll die.”

“That’s true,” Oikawa said. “Humans flicker by so quickly, don’t they?”

“Sure.” 

Oikawa stopped talking, for once. Kenma dared not disturb the quiet, yet even in the silence something prodded at them. They didn’t even realize they’d resumed watching Kuroo shuffle around his tenement until Oikawa nudged them.

“Just go,” they said.

Kenma was back in the human form they’d taken on during their visits into Kuroo’s time and place. They hadn’t even been conscious of the shift until Oikawa’s elbow jabbed at their human body. 

“No,” Kenma said.

“Come on,” Oikawa said. “Is it really better to just waft around here pining?” 

“I’m not _pining_.”

“Whatever you say, but remind me of the last time you were this obsessed with anything.”

“I’m not _obsessed_.”

Oikawa shrugged. 

“I just did it for fun,” Kenma said. “For amusement. He’s … interesting.”

“And you’re interested.”

Kenma glanced over at Oikawa, summoning every bit of knowledge they had about human glares. 

“Oh my,” Oikawa said. “That’s a pretty convincing look. You’re good at that expression.” Oikawa tapped Kenma’s nose. “But it doesn’t change the truth.” 

“I’m going to leave just to get away from you,” Kenma drawled. 

Oikawa gasped dramatically, slapping their hands over the place where their human heart would have been. “How could you? My dearest companion in this endless existence, leaving me for a human. Well, follow your heart, as they say down there.”

“I’m not following anything,” Kenma said. 

Oikawa was still laughing as Kenma passed out of the realm of angels.

#

Sunlight warmed Kenma’s human skin. They’d almost forgotten what the sun felt like when one had skin to sense it with. Even when they’d come here to find a new bicycle for Kuroo, they’d left one foot on another plane, one shred of consciousness lagging behind.

Not this time. This time, Kenma stepped fully into the mortal realm: body, soul, consciousness, everything. They surrendered to the sensations of a human body. Even a relatively young one still had its quirks. For example, the gnawing, nagging claws of hunger twisted their belly immediately. The sunlight they stood in was already getting too warm and making their body sweat in an effort to cool itself. And why did one knee twinge when they walked?

Kenma sighed, but it was still better than dealing with Oikawa. The angel was unlikely to follow them this deep, unlikely to shed all their awe-inspiring beauty for a clunky human body. 

In fact, it was rare for any of them to go fully mortal like this. Usually they left something behind, a means of a quick escape. 

Kenma didn’t really mind, though. The hunger wouldn’t kill them – and even if it did it would only kill a temporary human form. The knee sorted itself out as Kenma continued along the sidewalk. And the sweat felt nice as it evaporated off their skin. 

Now, to figure out where in all the mortal world they were.

They recognized some of the buildings and signs from Kuroo’s street. It made sense. The last thing Kenma had observed before passing through planes had been Kuroo’s tenement. 

They navigated to it easily. (“A little too easily, don’t you think?” Oikawa mocked them in their mind. Kenma shook off the thought. Even angels couldn’t force their ways into each other’s heads, but Oikawa was such a persistent nuisance they defied heavenly nature.)

They walked up a flight of stairs, then stopped before the door they knew was Kuroo’s. They could knock, but that involved effort and waiting and wondering if Kuroo was even still within the residence. Instead, they slipped between planes, just for a moment, and passed through the door. 

“Holy shit, what the fuck?” 

Kuroo was walking from the kitchen to the sad little couch in the living room, but he stopped dead, nearly dropping the bowl in his hands, regarding Kenma with wide eyes. 

“How the hell did you get in here?” Kuroo said. 

Kenma waved vaguely at the door. “Went through.”

“Went...” Kuroo shook his head. “Whatever. Why are you here?”

“I was bored.”

Kuroo blinked. “Man, I can’t deal with this.” He recovered, continuing to his couch, sinking down on the cushions with his bowl of food. 

Kenma followed, sitting beside Kuroo. The couch was too soft. Even the small body Kenma had chosen sank into it. Springs groaned. A smell like dust and time rose from the fabric. It was all very … human. 

Kuroo was ignoring Kenma, eating a watery, noodle-based dish with sauces and vegetables in it. It smelled like salt and a thousand, thousand chemicals Kenma couldn’t quite individuate with human senses alone. Kuroo stopped eating when he noticed Kenma watching, noodles hanging out of his mouth.

“What?” he said around a mouthful of food.

“Can I have some?” 

Kuroo slurped up the noodles, swallowing in a gulp. “You want instant ramen?”

Kenma shrugged. “It smells nice.” 

“I thought you were a being of infinite light or something,” Kuroo said. 

“I am.”

“Then why do you need to eat?”

Kenma’s stomach grumbled as though on cue. What a noisy and temperamental thing it was. “This is a human body. It requires food.”

“If you’re so damn hungry why don’t you just switch into a big fucking angel and get feathers all over my apartment again as you poof out and magic yourself a meal, huh?”

“Apartment.” Kenma rolled the word around. “Is that what you call your tenement?” 

“Tenement? Is that like an apartment?”

“Apparently so.”

“Weird,” Kuroo said. “You talk weird.”

Kenma shrugged. “We watch humans but don’t necessarily interact with them. Do you appreciate how quickly your languages change?”

It was Kuroo’s turn to shrug. He returned to his meal, noisily slurping up noodles. The broth flecked his chin.

“So?” Kenma said.

“Hm?”

“Can I have some?” 

Kuroo set the bowl and chopsticks aside and swallowed the noodles in his mouth. Then he turned on the couch, facing Kenma head on. “What’s your deal, man?” 

“My … deal?”

“What is this?” Kuroo gestured broadly. “Like, what are you? What’s going on here? Why do you keep coming back but don’t make anything better?”

“Am I supposed to make things better?”

“You’re at least not supposed to make them worse!” Kuroo’s voice rose to a shout. He took a breath, continuing in a normal tone. “Every time you’ve appeared something in my life has gotten measurably worse. First, I lose my job and my bike in the same damn day. Then you pit my neighbor against me. Now you come here begging for food? Are you an angel or some sort of demon?” 

“A demon?” Kenma reeled back at the very suggestion. 

“Well? What should I think? All you’ve brought me is bad luck.”

Kenma sat up straighter, blinking. A demon. Those most foul and wretched of creatures, bringers of misery and misfortune and untold horrors. The best among them were merely torturers. The worst … the worst made Kenma shudder even to think of. 

Perhaps Kuroo was correct, though. Kenma certainly hadn’t accomplished anything they’d intended to. Wasn’t that why they kept watching? Wasn’t that why they were here now? 

“Give me your hand,” Kenma said. 

Kuroo narrowed his eyes, extending a hand timidly. “No feathers?”

“No feathers.”

“Fine.” 

Kenma took Kuroo’s hand, holding it just by the fingers. All it took was a light touch and a slight dip into other planes and Kenma could see every little ache and twinge in Kuroo’s body. There weren’t many – this human tended to his body, apparently – but Kenma soothed them anyway before returning entirely to the tenement. _Apartment. He called it an apartment._

Kuroo sighed as though waking. He slowly removed his hand from Kenma’s, staring at it in awe. 

“Wow,” he said. “What was that?” 

Kenma shrugged. “Angel stuff.”

Kuroo snorted a laugh. “Angel stuff, huh? I’ll take another.”

Kenma rolled his eyes. “Is that sufficient proof?”

Kuroo was touching his own hand as though he didn’t quite recognize it anymore. He ran his finger along his palm, tracing the lines. 

Kenma snapped their fingers and Kuroo blinked. 

“Huh?”

“Do you believe me now?” Kenma said. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo said, still a little breathy. 

“Well, good.” 

“So, uh...” Kuroo shifted away, no longer facing Kenma. He poked at his noodles, then picked up the whole bowl and offered it to Kenma. “You can have the rest if you want. Doesn’t really seem like a meal fit for angels.”

Kenma accepted the ramen, sniffing at it. 

“Are you sure you want that shit?” Kuroo said. “I could make you something better.”

“This will be sufficient.” 

Kenma tipped the bowl, drinking the broth, catching a few errant noodles. After so long with no need for a sense of taste, the flavor was bright and noisy, a sudden burst of light through the clouds. Kenma cautiously lowered the bowl. They needed to adjust – not only to the taste, but also to the mere sensation of eating, to all the human mechanisms that went along with consuming. The body they’d chosen was well-equipped for the taste, of course, but Kenma’s angelic mind was not. 

They sat back after that sip, reclining into the sagging couch, looking at nothing in particular, enjoying the varied and strange machinations of a human body shifting gears to process nourishment. Their throat worked to push the food down. Their stomach churned and released acids. Their body temperature rose. Sugars released. Everything recalculated to accommodate the burst of sodium and carbohydrates. 

“Are you, um, are you OK?” Kuroo said.

Kenma blinked. “Hm? Yes, of course.”

“You kinda went spacey there for a minute.”

“It’s been a while since I went completely mortal. There are a lot of sensations.” 

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see. Well, do you need anything?” 

“No.”

“OK, um, I’m just gonna get a quick shower then. You alright here?”

“Oh yes, I’ll be fine.” 

Kuroo looked doubtful. “Are you … planning to stay?” 

“Until I’m bored.”

Something about that either perplexed or annoyed Kuroo, but all he said was, “Sure, fine” before walking away. 

Kuroo padded away. Soon after, water hissed in the shower in the other room. Kuroo’s voice hummed beneath the splash of the water. He was singing, the sound almost heavenly in the echo of the shower. 

Kenma smiled just a little. These humans didn’t appreciate the little ways in which they mimicked the divine. It was endearing. 

They relaxed into the couch. It wasn’t so bad now that they were used to it. There was a little table in front of it that had magazines, dirty plates and a lighter scattered atop it. Kenma reached for the lighter, flicking the flame on and off. It was a strangely satisfying motion, but in Kenma’s observations humans were usually lighting _something_ when they conjured fire. They scanned, but the only thing they found on the table that looked burnt was a little rolled up paper.

The paper crinkled when Kenma picked it up, flecks of green falling out onto the table. Kenma sniffed cautiously. It was earthy and stinky, but not in an unpleasant way. It smelled like growing things and dirt and something vaguely sweet.

“Hey, whoa, put that down.”

Kenma turned to find Kuroo wearing only a bath towel around his waist. His hair, usually spiky and gravity-defying, flopped wet onto his face, covering one eye. He dripped water onto the carpet and clutched the towel with one hand, even as he reached for the little paper with the other. Among the human bodies Kenma had observed, Kuroo had quite a fit one, lean but strong. 

“Why?” Kenma said.

Kuroo snatched the paper away and tossed it onto the table, spilling yet more of the fragrant green leaves. “Just … it’s not good for you. Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t die. I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Just leave it, OK?” 

Kenma shrugged and Kuroo shook his head, grumbling as he stomped away. Kenma watched him go, wondering at the strong reaction to such a simple thing. 

Even when Kuroo returned, dressed now, his hair fluffed up and somewhat drier, Kenma couldn’t stop thinking about the paper. 

“What is that stuff?” Kenma said. 

“Can you just let it go?” Kuroo said. 

“But I want to know.”

“Aren’t you, like, all-knowing or something?” Kuroo said.

“No,” Kenma said. “I observe sometimes, but things change quickly down here.”

“You observe, huh? Well, have you ever observed humans, uh … burning ceremonial plants?” 

Kenma considered this. Ceremonial plants. Yes, they’d certainly seen something of that nature. It didn’t seem too uncommon. “But isn’t it usually larger?” Kenma said. “Is this not a thing you do with other humans?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“We can burn ceremonial plants together now, if you like.”

“What?” Kuroo’s eyes went wide. 

“I’m familiar with the effects such things have on human brains,” Kenma said. 

“Yeah, I’m definitely not getting an angel high.”

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t know if you’ll freak out and destroy my whole apartment or something.” 

Kenma wanted to argue more. It seemed like it might be a fun thing to experience while they were fully mortal like this. The food had had an interesting and noticeable effect on their body. They couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to do something a bit more daring to their brain as well. But Kuroo was already gathering up the lighter and paper and any little bits of green he could sweep into his palm. He took them all away behind the hanging sheets, back to what Kenma assumed was his room, before returning. 

Kuroo settled on the couch with a sigh.

“You’re like a cat,” he muttered.

Kenma just tilted their head in question.

“Getting into all my shit,” Kuroo said. “Trying to eat anything you find. Making a mess everywhere. How long do you plan on staying here?”

“I told you, until I’m bored.” 

“And you’re not bored yet?”

“No.”

“Well, then, what do you want to do?” 

Kenma considered this for a moment before pointing at the television against the wall. “Humans spend a lot of time with this entertainment. I would like to see it.”

“You wanna watch TV?” 

“Yes.”

Kuroo huffed but reached for a device to operate the television. “Fine. Can’t cause any trouble that way, at least. I hope.”

Kuroo pushed a button on the device and color flooded the dark screen. It flickered, menus flashing by, humans and animals and light bursting before Kenma’s eyes. 

“What do you wanna watch?” Kuroo said. 

“I have no idea,” Kenma said. “There are so many choices.”

“And yet not a damn thing worth seeing.” 

“Hm?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Here.” Kuroo handed Kenma the device. “Pick whatever you want.”

It took Kenma only a moment to understand the basics of the device. It was a fairly simple operation, almost elegant in how it all worked. Humans could be so clever about things that brought them pleasure. 

They tabbed through the menu on the television. Every time they paused a preview would play. They got a snippet of a cooking show, a crime drama, a documentary about ghosts, a cartoon about a dragon. They stopped on the dragon. It was the brightest and most interesting. It was also the furthest from reality, something between humans and angels, a space that wasn’t accurate to either of them, but borrowed bits of each. 

“This one,” Kenma said.

“A cartoon, seriously?” Kuroo said.

“Yes.” Kenma clicked and the cartoon filled the screen.

“Fine, whatever.” Kuroo huffed, crossing his arms and tilting his head back against the couch like he was going to sleep. 

It didn’t matter to Kenma. The moment the cartoon started, they were enthralled. It moved so quickly. The story hardly paused for a second to explain itself before jumping to some new thing. How did humans process it? And if Kenma’s understanding was accurate, this was for young humans, ones whose brains were still forming. How did they understand it when it went by so fast? 

It seemed the show was done in mere moments. Kenma blinked, but when they clicked through the menu the television insisted there were no more episodes. 

They stood. How had they not even heeded the aches and pains in their human body during that? All of a sudden, they needed several things. Water, a restroom, the unfolding of their legs. They accomplished all three with relatively little fuss, even having not used a bathroom in some time. It was a simple enough operation, even if it felt odd. 

When they returned, a glass of water in hand, they found Kuroo asleep on his couch, mouth open, arms still crossed. It was evening, so Kenma supposed it was ordinary for Kuroo to be tired, but even so – it would just be too boring if Kuroo went on sleeping the whole night. 

They returned to the couch and nudged Kuroo until he startled awake.

“Shit, you’re still here?” Kuroo said.

“I want to use your entertainment system,” Kenma said.

“Huh?”

Kenma pointed at a box connected to the television by various wires. They’d seen Kuroo use it several times to play simulated war games on the television. 

“You want to play video games?” Kuroo said.

“Yes.”

“Do you know how?”

Kenma shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. But I don’t know how to make the television display that device.”

Kuroo sighed, but climbed off the couch, hitting a button on the box. He clicked through some menu on the television as well and suddenly it switched from the cartoon to a game. A fearsome woman with red hair appeared on the screen. She held a bow in one hand and glared into the distance. 

“So, you need this controller,” Kuroo said, giving Kenma a handheld object. “Is this the game you want? I have others.”

Kenma regarded the warrior on the screen. She looked strong and interesting and colorful. “This one will do.” 

“Great,” Kuroo grumbled. 

He stayed awake through some of it, giving Kenma tips on operating the warrior until it became clear that Kenma didn’t need them. This device was terrifically easy to operate, Kenma found. Within minutes, they could make the warrior shoot through whole armies full of enemies. It was like heavenly retribution in condensed form – and with no lasting repercussions. No wonder humans enjoyed it so much. 

And there was a story! Kenma learned of the warrior’s family, of her missing parentage, of her quest for revenge, of her friends and the elders of her clan. It was like a playable cartoon. Kenma started to wonder why humans did anything but this. 

The other games piqued their curiosity now that they’d had a taste. It was easy enough to switch between games on the device, but there was also an entire second device full of different games. 

Kenma discovered one about a warrior in hell and instantly locked on. It was a rather charming depiction of the underworld, one Kenma knew was far from the truth, but perhaps this was comforting for humans. In any case, they liked the cheeky underworld warrior and they especially liked the depictions of various gods. Oikawa would enjoy the god of wine, Kenma thought. That one was not dissimilar from some of Oikawa’s chosen forms. 

All of this was so engrossing that Kenma did not even notice how the light outside the windows faded, deepening to black before returning in thin rosy tendrils. Only when the sun slashed through the blinds did Kenma realize they’d spent an entire mortal night playing games. 

Kuroo jerked awake beside them. 

“Fuck, shit, what time is it?” 

He rubbed at his eyes, blinking at the light invading his apartment. Kuroo winced as he reached for his phone, perhaps stiff from sleeping sitting up. 

“God damn it,” he swore as he looked at his phone. 

Kuroo sprang to his feet, rushing through his apartment. Kenma heard water run, heard things bang and clink in the kitchen and bedroom, and within minutes Kuroo stumbled back into the living room, zipping up jeans and running a hand through his messy hair. He barely paused to gulp down coffee before shoving keys and a wallet into his pockets.

“Are you leaving?” Kenma said. 

Kuroo startled. “God, you’re still here? Yes, I’m leaving. And you should too.”

“Where are you going?” 

“Class. Then work.”

“I thought you lost your employment. And what is ‘class?’”

Kuroo sighed. “I’m getting a masters in business. University. School. You know?”

“I see,” Kenma said. They had no idea what a masters in business was, but it seemed extremely dull. School had always struck them as a boring human activity. “But you’re tired. Why don’t you rest?”

“Guess no one informed you, but we’ve got these things down here called ‘bills,’ and they don’t care if I’m tired or not,” Kuroo said. 

“I see.” 

Kuroo paused, lips pressing tight as though he was holding in his words, but he just sighed and shook his head. “Look, are you just going to hang out here all day or what?”

Kenma stood. Their mortal body ached from sitting and hunching for so long. “No, I’m bored. This body is tiring. It wants food, I believe. I’m leaving.”

“Please don’t destroy my apartment again in the process,” Kuroo said.

“I won’t. Thank you for letting me enjoy your entertainments for an evening.” 

“Yeah, sure, don’t mention it.” 

Kenma started to fade away, to drift out of the mortal realm, out of this creaky mortal body, out of all the aches and pains it could gather in a single night. Their back hurt. Their fingers felt like claws from gripping the game device. Their knees twinged as they shifted from foot to foot. 

They were still in Kuroo’s apartment.

Kenma opened their eyes, cold washing through their horribly mortal body. 

“Are you going or what?” Kuroo said.

“I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Kenma said, even as the realization struck them. “I can’t go.”

“Are you telling me you’re stuck here?”

Kenma wasn’t listening to Kuroo anymore. They tried to fade again, but nothing happened. When they reached for the other planes of existence that had always been so easily within their grasp there was simply … nothing. Not a wall, not a blockage – nothing. It was like trying to blow on a boulder to move it. No matter how Kenma reached or thought or prayed, they met implacable resistance. 

Kuroo’s hands landed on Kenma’s shoulders jolting them out of their thoughts. 

“Hey, bud, you alright?” Kuroo said. “You look pale.” 

“I chose a pale human body,” Kenma said, voice numb and thin and automatic.

“Yeah, you’re not OK. Alright, come on.” 

Kuroo steered Kenma back to the couch and set a blanket on their lap. It was warm and pleasant, but it was nothing like the light of heaven, a thin comfort at best. Kenma didn’t even realize Kuroo had left until he returned with a cup.

“Here,” Kuroo said. “This is tea.”

“I know tea,” Kenma said. They wanted to sound annoyed or angry, but their voice emerged in a thin monotone. They accepted the cup, appreciating the warmth that radiated into their aching hands. 

Kuroo squeezed Kenma’s shoulder. He was very tall, but he leaned down closer to Kenma.

“Hey, look, I don’t know what’s going on,” Kuroo said, “but you seem pretty shaken up. I have to go, but drink that, maybe take a nap, play more video games. I’ll be back when I can, alright?” 

There was such kindness in Kuroo’s voice, such concern. He watched Kenma like he was the angel bestowing benevolence and not Kenma. Though Kenma supposed they hadn’t bestowed much benevolence on Kuroo’s life. In fact, they’d rather made a mess of it. 

“I’m sorry,” Kenma said. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Kuroo said. “Just chill here, OK? I’ll come back later.” 

“Chill...” A funny word to choose when Kuroo made them feel so warm and secure. “Yes, OK.” 

Kuroo smiled. It was a nice gesture. It made Kenma’s stomach feel warm too. 

Kuroo patted Kenma’s cheek. “Hang in there, buddy. Play more video games. We’ll get you sorted out.”

Kenma nodded. They wished Kuroo’s hand would stay there on their cheek a little longer. It reassured them that their world wasn’t ending. 

But Kuroo withdrew, breezing out of his apartment, leaving Kenma horribly alone with their rickety mortal body.

#

Being mortal sucked, but try as Kenma might, all other realms of existence remained as impassable as brick walls. They were really, truly stuck.

Kuroo didn’t kick them out, which was really quite kind of him. Kenma wasn’t sure where they’d go if he did. Kuroo was their one and only contact in the mortal realm, an accident that just kept on getting worse.

The bathroom wasn’t so bad a thing to learn. It made an intuitive sort of sense. But eating was just about the most annoying thing Kenma had experienced in all of eternity. Their body constantly grumbled for more. No amount of feeding seemed enough.

“That’s because you eat like a bird,” Kuroo said one day.

Kenma cocked their head to the side. Kuroo didn’t give them seed to eat. Nor worms. There were some berries involved, but that hardly qualified Kenma as a bird. 

Kuroo sighed and rolled his eyes. “You eat like three crackers and then forget about food. You have to eat _meals,_ whole meals. Do you understand?”

“Not really.”

That’s when Kuroo started cooking for them rather than just leaving out snacks while he was gone. He even labeled them. “Morning.” “Noon.” “Afternoon snack.” Kenma consumed them at the prescribed times and they had to admit, that certainly did make the whole hunger thing a bit more tolerable and comprehensible, but no less annoying. 

Plus, these “meals” weren’t nearly as tasty as the snacks. Kenma enjoyed the sweet ones the best, the little chips of chocolate, the hard crunch of pure sugar, the chewiness of cakes and brownies. Some days, Kenma ignored Kuroo’s carefully labeled meals, opting instead to raid the candy jar kept in the closet. 

This proved a mistake. 

Something about the candies wound through Kenma like a snake in their gut. It made them feel tight and uncomfortable. It also made the experience of the bathroom significantly more … harrowing. 

By the time Kuroo returned from work that day, he found Kenma lying on the floor with a video game controller in one hand and their other hand on their belly. Kuroo sighed, crunching over candy wrappers as he approached Kenma.

“Did you eat?” he said.

“Mmm,” Kenma groaned.

“Did you eat something besides candy?” Kuroo said.

“Nnn.” 

Kuroo heaved another sigh, setting aside his bag and hefting Kenma up. 

“You stink. You need a shower,” Kuroo said. “When was the last time you did that?”

“I dunno,” Kenma said. 

“Jeez,” Kuroo muttered. “You’re like a bratty teenager or something. Come on. You’ll be fine. You just need to wash and drink some water.” 

Kuroo hauled Kenma off to the bathroom. Kenma had used the shower before, but they did not like it. The narrow stall felt cramped and close. The water either froze or burned as Kenma stood in the plastic basin. Then they’d step back out naked and cold. A miserable exercise through and through.

But today Kuroo didn’t leave Kenma on their own to navigate it. Today, Kuroo stayed with them, turning on the water as he ordered Kenma to undress. 

Kenma did, but for some reason when Kuroo finished fiddling with the water and faced them, their nudity prickled at them. Odd, that merely being naked should suddenly be such a large and urgent thing. They’d only just gotten a body that even _could_ be naked, yet they were keenly aware of the exposure as Kuroo’s eyes fell on them. 

“Get in,” Kuroo said, but his voice was tighter than usual.

Kenma didn’t understand at first. Then they saw that the basin was full this time. The water hadn’t merely burst out and then drained like usual. A cloud of warmth filled the whole room, leaving Kenma pleasantly warm even while nude. 

Kuroo stood back as Kenma slipped into the tub. The water rose around them like a warm blanket when they lowered to their chin and closed their eyes. 

“You, uh, OK in there?” Kuroo said.

“Mmmm,” Kenma said. Bubbles gurgled when they spoke. They raised up just over the line of the water. “This is so much better. Why don’t you wash like this every time?” 

“It’s a waste of time and water,” Kuroo said. “Resources aren’t unlimited down here.” 

Limited resources. That was a thing Kenma was still learning. 

Kuroo knelt beside the tub. He seemed a little less flustered now, or perhaps the warmth in the room just hid it better. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. 

“Dunk your head,” Kuroo said. “Under the water. I’ll wash your hair.”

Kenma did, but they came up spluttering, their nose full. They coughed as Kuroo pounded their back to dislodge the water.

“Good god, you’re not supposed to breathe under the water,” Kuroo said.

“Well how should I know that? I haven’t had to breathe in millennia.” 

“Have you never seen a mortal swim?” Kuroo said.

“Sure,” Kenma said, “but that doesn’t mean I’ve done it myself.”

Kuroo muttered to himself, but wiped off Kenma’s face with a towel. “You know, for an angel or whatever you are ridiculously helpless.”

“Whatever.”

Kuroo snorted a laugh. He clicked open some bottle and massaged shampoo into Kenma’s hair. Kuroo’s fingers made circles on Kenma’s scalp, tingling everywhere they went. Kenma’s shoulders melted down. They sank back into the water, relaxing with Kuroo’s hands in their hair. 

They didn’t want Kuroo to stop, but eventually he did. “I’m going to pour the water over you this time,” Kuroo said. “Close your eyes. And for fuck’s sake, don’t breathe it in.” 

Kenma would have rolled their eyes, but they didn’t have time. Kuroo poured water over their head, a careful flow that stayed well away from their face. He repeated the procedure a few times, then more shampoo went in Kenma’s hair. This time, Kuroo pulled Kenma’s hair through his hands, smoothing it down with the shampoo in it.

“Didn’t you just do this?” Kenma said. “Not that I’m complaining. It feels nice.” 

Kuroo’s hands jerked a little, startled from their smooth motions. “No,” Kuroo said. “This is different. It’s conditioner. It makes your hair … nice.”

“Why?”

“It just makes it soft and stuff, I don’t know. It’s a thing people do.”

“Hm, well, it’s alright, I suppose,” Kenma said, “if it means you keep doing that.”

Another shock passed through Kuroo’s hands. Kenma couldn’t see it with their back to Kuroo, but they could feel the interruption. 

“Is something wrong?” Kenma said. 

“No,” Kuroo said, but his voice was all bound up tight again. 

“Are you sure?” Kenma said. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” Kuroo said. “Be quiet. Close your eyes. I’m gonna rinse it out.”

Kenma obeyed, sighing happily as Kuroo poured water over their head and worked out the conditioner with his hands. The tingle in Kenma’s scalp had seeped all through their body now, as though the water Kuroo poured over their head spread the sensation. The bathroom felt so warm this time, everything soft and fuzzy with damp heat. It stirred something in Kenma and they didn’t fight it, letting this strange mortal body react to the comfort closing in around them. 

“Fuck.” Water sloshed as Kuroo startled away. 

Kenma turned in the tub to find Kuroo sitting back on the floor, his clothing damp from the sudden motion. 

“What’s wrong?” Kenma said.

“You’re...” Kuroo’s eyes flickered down.

Kenma looked and found their new human anatomy had reacted visibly to Kuroo’s attention. That wasn’t really any surprise, though. “So?” they said. 

“You’re not … you’re not supposed to just do that when a friend gives you a bath,” Kuroo said. 

“Why?” Kenma said. “It felt nice.” 

“It’s just … rude,” Kuroo said.

“Are you offended?” 

Kuroo cast his gaze aside, cheeks rosy from the heat of the bathroom. “No, but...”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is,” Kenma said. “This is a thing human bodies do, right? It’ll go away.” 

“Yeah,” Kuroo said. “Yeah, it’ll go away.” But he still wasn’t looking at Kenma. 

Something clicked. That prickle of attention when Kenma undressed. The way Kuroo’s hands felt in their hair. And now this extreme reaction to something Kenma assumed was a normal function of human bodies, a thing surely Kuroo’s body did as well. 

“You’re attracted to me,” Kenma said.

Kuroo’s eyes were wide as saucers when he finally met Kenma’s gaze again. “W-what?”

“That’s why this is embarrassing, right?” Kenma said. “That’s why it’s strange. Because you’re attracted to me.” 

“That’s...” Kuroo’s face went rigid, petrified, like some old statue caught in a rictus of terror. 

Kenma’s mind whirled. Something about this situation didn’t add up. Kuroo was clearly keenly ashamed and searching for an exit. Kenma began to fear that exit would involve kicking them out to fend for themself in this odd mortal world. 

“I’m sorry?” Kenma said. “I think?” 

Kuroo shook his head. “It’s not your fault, it’s just … well … you’re an immortal being of light. How am I supposed to feel? And even when you got stuck in a human form, it’s, well, you, uh, didn’t exactly choose an unappealing one. What do you want me to say?”

Kenma stood, water sliding down their body. The excited tingle had subsided, which seemed to be a relief to Kuroo. It seemed an even bigger relief when Kenma wrapped themself up in a towel. 

“I understand,” Kenma said. “I mean, a little. I think. Your forms don’t typically change, so if you find yourself attracted to me, there is little you can do to stop feeling attracted. This will be inconvenient with me living here, right?”

Kuroo stood as well. Kenma looked, but Kuroo did not seem physically excited by all this attraction business, except perhaps the flush in his cheeks.

“What are you—” Kuroo said. “Jeez. Don’t just— That’s rude, OK?”

Kenma shrugged. “So, should I plan to leave?”

“What? No,” Kuroo said. “Of course not. We’re adults.”

“I don’t understand what that means.”

Kuroo huffed out a breath. “It means I can be cool.”

“Be cool?”

“It means it won’t change anything,” Kuroo said. “Attraction isn’t that big a deal. I was just surprised, is all. But I can act normal. I’ll get over it.” 

“I see,” Kenma said. 

“So you don’t have to leave,” Kuroo said. “Unless you want to.”

“I don’t,” Kenma said. 

Kuroo’s shoulders ticked down. “Well, good. Fine, I guess. Have you eaten? You should get dressed. You’re dripping all over.” 

Kuroo returned to his fussing as though nothing had happened. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps he could “be cool,” as he said, though Kenma didn’t really see the point. Attraction was something they’d indulged in occasionally as an angel in all manner of forms. A human body couldn’t possibly be that shocking after intertwining their essence with Oikawa’s that one time when they’d both taken the form of clouds. Mortals still told stories of the storm that rained down on that unfortunate city beneath them.

#

Kenma was glad they were using the couch as their bed before the incident in the bath. Despite Kuroo’s claims to the contrary, things turned strained and stressed in the aftermath of the confession. Some new distance opened between them, some invisible buffer that pushed them farther apart when they sat on the couch and watched movies together. Kuroo certainly never bathed Kenma again, as much as Kenma would have liked to feel those fingers combing through their hair.

The mere memory called up that tingling, tickling warmth, a warmth Kenma learned they quite enjoyed. It was different in a human body. It was more … present. More insistent. More tangible. Something about this limited, trapped, physical shape with its limited reactions and limited resources made the experience that much more intense, even when it was just a memory of a bath and Kenma’s own hand frantic under the sheets or in the shower. 

In fact, Kenma learned they rather loved the shower now. It was private, so it would not embarrass Kuroo, and it was easy to clean up. And every time they stepped into the tub and turned on the water they could almost feel Kuroo’s hands in their hair, stroking through, sending heat seeping through their new body. God, how they wished Kuroo would do it again, but with his strange, implacable distance, they dared not ask. Getting kicked out would be far worse than daydreaming in the shower.

Kenma toweled off their hair (shampooed _and_ conditioned, per Kuroo’s instructions) and dressed before leaving the bathroom. Kuroo should have been at work, but Kenma found him waiting there in the living room. 

“Hey,” Kuroo said. 

“Hello,” Kenma said. 

“Have you eaten today?” Kuroo said.

“No, it’s early.”

“OK, well, everything’s marked in the fridge. Make sure you actually eat it.” 

“I know,” Kenma said. “Why are you saying this?” 

“I...” Kuroo shuffled from foot to foot. “I want to take you out tonight. To a restaurant. A place where people cook for you.”

Kenma cocked their head to the side. 

“It’s way better than what I make,” Kuroo said. “I know a good place that’s not too expensive.” 

“Why?” Kenma said. “Your resources are, as you say, limited.”

“I’ve been doing OK at work,” Kuroo said. 

“Even so, why waste it on me?” Kenma said.

“I just want to, OK?” Kuroo said. “We’re … roommates. It’s just a human thing, alright?”

“Alright.”

“So you’ll go?” Kuroo said. “Tonight, you’ll come with me? We’ll go out to eat?”

“Yes,” Kenma said. 

Kuroo deflated as he let out a breath, shoulders slumping down, a smile breaking across his face. “Great,” he said. “Great. Awesome. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later.”

He hurried out the door, leaving Kenma blinking in the living room.

#

“I do not understand how what I was wearing wasn’t ‘real’ clothing,” Kenma said.

“It just wasn’t,” Kuroo said. “This is better.”

“It’s not as comfortable.”

“Well, it’s what you have to wear to go outside.”

“Why?” Kenma said.

“Because boxers and my sweatshirt will get you kicked out of the restaurant,” Kuroo said. “It’s unsanitary.”

“How is that—”

“It just is,” Kuroo said. 

He fussed over the jacket Kenma now wore. It was soft, but stiff and made of the same scratchy material as the pants. Kuroo was dressed similarly in dark blues. Kenma couldn’t understand any of it, but by far the most baffling part was the “tie,” a strip of fabric looped around the neck and hanging uselessly down the chest. 

“You look nice,” Kuroo said. “It’s fancy, you know, like for a special occasion?” 

“Is this a special occasion?” 

Color lit Kuroo’s cheeks. He turned and scooped up his wallet and keys off the counter. “Let’s just go. We’re gonna be late.”

#

The restaurant was not what Kenma expected.

For one thing, it was nothing like the one Kuroo had worked at before, well, before Kenma got him fired. Everyone inside was dressed “fancy,” even the servers, who carried themselves with the politeness of literal saints. 

Kuroo and Kenma sat at a little round table with a candle in the center. The flame flickered inside an orb of red glass, casting a crimson glow. The lighting overhead was muted and pale, like the celestial glow washing through the heavens. And when the server poured them cups of deep red wine, Kenma tasted something they’d thought confined to the realms of angels. 

Their surprise must have been obvious because Kuroo said, “Good, right?”

“Yes,” Kenma said. “I haven’t had something like this since I was in he—”

“Shh,” Kuroo cut in. “Let’s keep the angel stuff to a minimum, OK? Mortals might find it weird.”

“There are plenty of mortals who believe in all manner of gods,” Kenma said. “They’re all wrong, for what it’s worth.”

“Yeah, well, it’s one thing to believe and another to see someone bragging about sipping the nectar of heaven or whatever, you know?”

Kenma shrugged. A card lay before them with a list of food on it. They’d seen humans in restaurants enough times to understand the mechanism at work here, though there were so many choices and so many words for those choices that they quickly became lost. 

“What should I eat?” Kenma said.

“Whatever you want,” Kuroo said. 

“I … I don’t know what a lot of this is,” Kenma said.

Kuroo looked up from his menu. “Oh, shoot, yeah, you’ve really only eaten what I have at home. Well, I could order for both of us, if you want. We can share. We share our meals at home anyway, right?” 

“Yes,” Kenma said. 

With the matter settled, Kenma sat back, sipping on the wine and taking in the restaurant. Most of the people around them sat in pairs, as they did. Some held hands, thumbs stroking idly as they chatted. One pairing even kissed. 

Kenma set down their wine. Kuroo was speaking with the server, who jotted down notes. When the server finally left, Kenma said, “This restaurant is for pairs.”

Kuroo sat up straighter. “What?”

Kenma waved a hand. “Everyone here is a pair. They arrived with partners. Lovers.”

Kuroo hissed and waved like Kenma had uttered some foul curse. “Why do you have to say everything in the weirdest possible way?” 

“I don’t know what word you use for it now,” Kenma said. “Your languages change quickly. What does it matter? I’m correct, aren’t I?”

Kuroo hunched forward but said, miserably, “Yeah, so what?”

“Are we a pair?” 

Kuroo looked up, eyes flying wide, cheeks nearly as bright as the wine. He took his glass and sipped, perhaps trying to cover up the flush, but it merely painted his lips as rosy as his cheeks. 

“No, of course not,” Kuroo said. “I just thought it would be nice to go out to eat.”

“You don’t have to lie,” Kenma said. “I’m not embarrassed. I already know you’re attracted to me. What does it matter?” 

Kuroo looked like he wanted to sink down in his seat all the way to the floor. “That’s just … that’s not how it’s done.”

“Then how is it done?”

“Well, for one thing,” Kuroo said, “I don’t even know if you … you know … feel the same. I can’t just declare that we’re dating. You have to agree to it too.”

“I see,” Kenma said.

The silence grew between them, a bubble of steam pushing them back in their chairs away from each other. 

“So?” Kuroo said. 

“So what?” Kenma said.

“Do you … feel the same?” 

The firelight flickered over his face, restless in those golden eyes that watched Kenma’s every flinch and breath. 

“Your hand,” Kenma said.

Kenma held out their own, palm up, waiting. Kuroo set his hand in Kenma’s like he feared he would get burned by the touch, but Kenma merely clasped his hand like the pairs around them.

“Your hands felt nice in my hair,” Kenma said, “that time when you washed me. I liked it. I’ve thought about it since then and touched myself and—”

“Jesus, Kenma, stop, please,” Kuroo said.

“What?” Kenma said. “I’m telling you I’m attracted to you also. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes, but god, you don’t … spell out the gory details in the middle of a restaurant.”

“Why not?” 

“It’s just rude, OK? You only say that kind of stuff in private.” 

“But—”

Kenma wanted to push more, but then the server returned, arms laden with massive plates of food. There were noodles crimped into pillowy shapes and floating in red sauce. There was a basket of bread covered in herbs and spices Kenma had no names for. There was more wine, poured by the server like he was some stiff-backed marble statue. 

They split up the pasta between them, untangling their hands to eat it. It was incredible. Kenma had never tasted anything like it. How so many flavors fit into each little pocket of noodle defied their belief. 

“You like it?” Kuroo said.

Kenma nodded, mouth full. When they could, they said, “We should have this at home.”

Kuroo chuckled. “We could, but it sure won’t taste like this.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I’m not this good a cook,” Kuroo said. “For another, I dunno, there’s just a quality to restaurant food. It always tastes better than home. It’s special.”

Kenma considered this. “An aura,” they said. 

“Hm?”

“It is like … a special feeling attached to a location,” Kenma said.

“Yeah,” Kuroo said. “It’s like that.”

“That’s why you dress fancy,” Kenma said, “and use resources. It’s special.”

Kuroo smiled. “Yeah, exactly.”

Kenma mirrored the expression. “I like that. It’s like … there was a way humans used to worship their ideas of gods. Special places, special ceremonies, celebrations, things like that. I enjoyed watching them do it that way.” 

“What, you don’t want a sacrificial virgin or something? Maybe some incense? A big fancy building full of old paintings?”

“That’s another way of doing things,” Kenma said. “Some might like that. I didn’t especially.” 

“So, like, does it even matter what we do down here and everything?” Kuroo said. “Does it matter if we’re ‘good’ or sinful or any of that?” 

Kenma shrugged. “Not really my department, but … sort of? I mean, not in the way I’ve heard a lot of humans talk about it. No one is tallying how many times you pray or which deity you burn your incense to or anything like that. Like I said, you’re all wrong. Every single one of you. None of you are even all that close, but that’s not super surprising. How are mortals supposed to comprehend the divine? It’s not possible. Still, it’s pretty obvious who sucks and who doesn’t, don’t you think? Mortals … end up where they should. Even eternity isn’t permanent though. I can’t really give you a single simple answer. It just doesn’t work that way.” 

Kuroo sat back, musing this over, oddly silent for a time. Kenma worried they’d said too much. The divine wasn’t easy for mortals to comprehend. Some of the dead spent hundreds of mortal years just in contemplation. But after a few more seconds Kuroo nodded to himself as though coming to some conclusion.

“You know,” he said, “I kinda like that.” 

Kenma smiled. “You’re a very strange mortal.” 

“You’re a stranger one.” 

The server returned and Kuroo spoke with him again, sending him off for one last “surprise,” as he said. While they waited, their hands migrated back toward each other. The restaurant dimmed and faded around Kenma, narrowing to the places where their hand lay in Kuroo’s. Their thumbs rubbed and while it wasn’t the same as the bath, it wasn’t bad, either. 

The server returned with a plate that carried a single slice of cake, but it was a slice unlike any Kenma had ever seen. The triangle of chocolate sat stately upon the plate, a crisp, dark slab of confectionery. Hardened chocolate adorned the top like a lacy hat. There was even a raspberry, a bright slash of color among the rich darkness of the cake itself. 

“You seem to have a thing for sweets,” Kuroo said, “so I thought we should get dessert, too.” 

“Am I allowed to eat this?” Kenma said. “It’s like art.”

“Yes, you’re allowed,” Kuroo said. “Encouraged even. Please. That cake ain’t cheap. You better enjoy it.” 

Kenma certainly intended to. A single bite had them moaning in a way that shot heat into Kuroo’s cheeks. Kenma quieted their pleasure after that, strange as the idea of muting their enjoyment was. That seemed to put Kuroo more at ease, though, and he helped them finish the rich cake. 

When they left the restaurant, their hands gravitated back toward each other, magnets refusing to be separated. The night’s coolness undercut the heat of the day, like this entire busy mortal earth was exhaling with relief, a brief reprieve before all that frantic scurrying and hurrying resumed. Through the yellowed glow of streetlights, Kenma even thought they saw a few stars poking stubbornly through the veil of human technology. 

“Kuroo,” they said as they walked.

“Hm?” Kuroo shook himself as though waking. He’d been quiet since they left, fingers intertwined with Kenma’s. 

“I don’t understand the intricacies of currency,” Kenma said, “but am I correct that this required considerable resources?”

“Oh,” Kuroo said. “I mean, kind of. A little. But it wasn’t a problem or anything. I wanted to.”

“Well, I’m grateful,” Kenma said. “I know it isn’t easy for you to gather enough resources for both of us.”

“Money,” Kuroo said. “You can just call it money.” 

“Money,” Kenma said. “I know you work to gather money and that my presence drains some amount of it. I’m grateful you’ve let me stay despite that.” 

“I wasn’t gonna kick you out,” Kuroo said. “Where would you even go?”

Kenma shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I would have died, but it’s not your responsibility.” 

“I’m not just going to let you die,” Kuroo said. “I have to work either way. Having company is nice.”

“Even so,” Kenma said, “I want to help. Maybe there is some work I can do.”

“It’ll be tough,” Kuroo said. “You don’t really … exist, you know? You don’t have a family name or past addresses or a work history. You’ve never paid taxes. You’ve never seen a doctor. You’re a ghost. But we might be able to figure something out, if you really want to try.”

“I do,” Kenma said. “It seems I’m here for the duration of a human lifespan. I don’t want to be a burden all that time.”

“You really think you’re stuck here for good, huh?”

“I do,” Kenma said. They squeezed Kuroo’s hand in theirs, gazed up at the stars, breathed in the coolness of the night and the smells of the human city around them. “But that’s not such a bad thing, I think.”

#

They arrived home light and joking. Kenma’s whole body felt good, warm, sated, tingling with the pleasure of having all its needs met and more besides.

And there was something else. The warmth of companionship, the pleasure of knowing that Kuroo would keep them near, that they would travel at least part of their human lives together. That Kuroo found that thought as appealing as Kenma did. 

This was something new, something distinctly human. There was no need for such an attachment in immortal realms. Someone like Oikawa would come and go, perhaps for days, perhaps for decades, perhaps for entire lifespans of planets. It didn’t matter. It made no difference. Time did not constrain and restrict them.

There was no urgency. 

Something about this mortal life, however, something about its fragility, its briefness, its constant demands, made knowing Kuroo would be beside them sweeter by far than that slice of chocolate cake. When they entered the apartment at last, Kenma was hungry all over again, but not for food. 

Kuroo had barely locked the door when Kenma pushed him back against it. They learned at last what that ridiculous “tie” was useful for when they used it to pull Kuroo down to their mouth. The dessert was still sweet on Kuroo’s lips, but when Kenma pushed past them, they discovered something deeper, something that was Kuroo alone. Somehow, when they licked into Kuroo’s mouth, they tasted exactly what they expected, something familiar and warm and unsurprising, like all this time they’d merely been waiting to rediscover Kuroo. 

Kuroo gasped for breath when Kenma relented. “You...”

“I’m sorry,” Kenma said. “Did you not want me to do that?”

“No, I did,” Kuroo said. “I absolutely did. I just didn’t expect you to be that good at it.”

“I’ve had sex before,” Kenma said.

“How?”

“This one time, Oikawa and I were clouds and—”

“You know what, I don’t wanna know.” Kuroo pulled Kenma close, but the outrageous barrier of their “fancy” clothing prevented their bodies from truly touching. “Do you want to come to bed with me?”

“Yes,” Kenma said. “Very much.” 

Kuroo stooped, scooping up Kenma by the thighs. Kenma had not considered the size of the body they’d chosen until this exact moment, but suddenly it seemed terribly convenient to be smaller than Kuroo. It allowed Kenma to kiss him again as Kuroo carried them toward the bedroom. 

They bumped against the walls, laughing at the impact from their bumbling traverse of the apartment. Kuroo’s scent filled Kenma’s chest when they stumbled past the curtain and into the darkened bedroom. Everything here smelled of him, from the piles of clothing to the sheets of the mattress on the floor. 

They tumbled to that mattress and for a moment just lay there on their sides, disheveled in their fine clothing, legs interlaced as their hands had been. Kuroo’s fingers trailed along Kenma’s face like he was trying to remember each curve in the dark. Then those fingers pushed back, combing through Kenma’s hair, tingling on their scalp, sending sizzles of pleasure down Kenma’s spine. 

Kenma’s eyes fluttered shut. They sighed from the feel of Kuroo’s fingers, from the heat of his breath so close to their face, from that mellow, warm scent suffusing the air. Kuroo kissed along Kenma’s neck, fingers still in Kenma’s hair. 

When he reached Kenma’s collar, Kuroo stopped. There was a question in his eyes, a lingering shred of doubt. God, these humans and their hang ups. 

Kenma didn’t let him doubt any longer. They shoved Kuroo onto his back and straddled his waist. Kenma sat atop him while they stripped off their jacket and tie and shirt, throwing them into the dark. Kuroo’s hands slid up Kenma’s torso, slow as they trailed up and up, then eased back down to hold Kenma at the waist. The slight pressure pushed Kenma down and back and they felt Kuroo’s excitement hard against them. 

Kenma smiled. Kuroo still looked doubtful, still held back some request that shone bright in his eyes. Kenma rolled their hips, pressing right back against him, and Kuroo groaned. Then they swept down, unbuttoning Kuroo’s shirt to expose his chest. 

Kenma bent down, rocking over Kuroo’s hips as they kissed the triangle of bare skin they’d exposed. Kuroo swelled under them, hips and chest swaying in turn. He started to move with a rhythm, pushing Kenma’s hips back against him as he ground up, his cock hard even through both their pants. 

Kenma helped as much as they could, moving with the flow of Kuroo’s rolling hips, pressing back to meet his cock each time. Every brush back against it made Kenma more excited in turn, their own body responding with a throbbing ache that beat delicious need into Kenma’s blood. 

They wanted to speed this up, to give in to that need, to heed that urgency pounding inside them. With immortals, it was so easy, almost transactional. They did not need to talk or build up or titillate. They could simply take on the form that suited or enticed them and explore its boundaries until they were sated. 

Here, though, Kenma went on kissing at Kuroo’s chest, trying to break down the last stubborn, prim walls of his resistance. Kenma found a nipple and sucked until Kuroo bucked hard and let out a yelp. Kuroo’s hands tightened on Kenma’s hips, his breaths scratchy and loud in the makeshift bedroom.

Kuroo surged up to sitting, finally ready to discard the rest of his clothing, but when he attempted to get rid of his tie, Kenma put their hands over Kuroo’s. 

“Keep that,” they said. “I like it.” 

Kuroo’s smile curled like a cat’s. He pushed Kenma down onto their back, then hastily stripped off his pants. Kenma glimpsed his cock for only an instant before Kuroo descended on them, kissing down their torso, sucking on their skin as he made his way down. 

He took his time, kissing and sucking until Kenma whined. Kuroo relented, sliding lower like a supplicant at an altar. He kissed his way up Kenma’s thighs, kissed along their cock, kissed the space between thigh and dick. Then he kissed lower, pushing Kenma’s legs up and back to tilt their hips. 

Kenma gasped when Kuroo’s tongue swirled around their hole, a quick, sudden dip. Kenma reached for the bedsheets, gripping as Kuroo kept on exploring.

Kuroo paused and Kenma glimpsed that feline grin for an instant. Then Kuroo flipped them over, placing Kenma on all fours. 

Kenma realized what Kuroo meant to do here. Enticing as the idea was, they stopped him.

“What’s wrong?” Kuroo said. 

“Nothing,” Kenma said. “I just don’t think it’s fair for you to have all the fun.”

Kuroo looked confused. Kenma pushed him down onto his back, then crawled over him. Kuroo looked like he wanted to protest, until Kenma turned around. 

“Oh,” Kuroo said. “Oh. Yeah. Good idea.” 

Kenma might have laughed, but they were distracted by the human beneath them. He was lovely, lean and strong, youthful yet, his cock straining up at Kenma, so eager and excited. 

Kenma lowered to it, taking it in hand at first, pumping up and down. They’d felt human cocks before, but it was different now. It had always been an illusion before, a form they or Oikawa or some other immortal wore temporarily. Cocks, breasts, hips, legs – they were just a guise. 

This was real. Kuroo was real. Touching him as a fellow mortal, fitting his cock into a mortal mouth – there was something exquisite about it. Something grounding.

Kenma fell down that cock like falling out of the heavens to the earth below. They did not mind this fall. In fact, it was delicious. Kenma bobbed up and down, heaven and earth, but in truth it was earth that enticed them more, that fullness throbbing in their mouth, real and solid and hot and present. It was so much more consuming than some illusion tossed on out of boredom or curiosity. 

It became even more real when Kuroo recovered and licked at Kenma. He pulled Kenma’s hips down so he could reach them. Then that tongue went swirling and wandering around around, licking at tight, sizzling nerves set on edge by every brush of Kuroo’s tongue. 

Kuroo seemed less focused than Kenma, exploring everything he could reach – Kenma’s hole, their sack, the skin in between and around, even their thighs. It was like he was trying to taste every inch of them, leave nothing untouched by his mouth. 

At last, he angled Kenma’s cock into his mouth, sucking at them while they kept on bobbing up and down him. Kenma shifted their hips, drawn into the heat of Kuroo’s mouth, into the tangible wetness and warmth that closed around them and seeped up through them like starlight soaking through a veil of artificial light. 

Kenma did something – bobbed lower, used their tongue, sucked harder – and Kuroo moaned. His voice trembled through Kenma, a note perfectly in tune with their body. And suddenly Kenma knew they’d need more. 

They pulled up off of Kuroo. He still had their cock in his mouth, but Kenma tried to speak. 

“I’d like,” Kenma said, “I’d like your fingers to enter me.” 

Kuroo stopped, frozen beneath Kenma. Kenma crawled off him, sitting to face him. 

“Is that OK?” Kenma said. A cold dread cooled some of their fervor. Perhaps this wasn’t how it was done. Perhaps Kuroo was even offended by the request. 

But then Kuroo grinned wide. “God, yes,” he said. 

He dove for the table beside his bed, returning with a little bottle. 

“All fours,” he said and Kenma hastened to get in position. 

It left Kenma with their back to Kuroo and ass in the air. They shivered when Kuroo ran his fingers over them. He followed with his mouth, one last greedy lick at their hole before he rubbed a lubricant over them. 

Then, finally, a finger slipped into Kenma, pushing easily inside. Kenma sighed out a breath they hadn’t known they’d been holding. It felt like that sigh had been waiting since the day Kuroo washed their hair. Behind it, building over all this time, were moans. 

Kuroo fit another finger inside, then another. The stretch was almost too much, but after a moment and a breath it eased. Kenma found how to relax their body into it, something that hadn’t really been needed as an immortal, and discovered a pleasure and satisfaction even in that. Kuroo was careful and deliberate; he seemed to know how to push enough but not too much, how to prod at boundaries while still understanding how Kenma’s body would react. In all likelihood, he understood better than Kenma how this body would respond to every push and curl of his fingers. 

It certainly felt that way.

As Kuroo pumped his fingers, fire surged through Kenma’s body. They arched their back, moaning piteously. Kuroo gripped their hip for leverage and thrust harder, faster, curling to brush against something within them that made them shout in surprise and delight. 

“Kuroo,” Kenma gasped. They didn’t know why. It seemed important in that moment, desperate. They had to speak the name of the mortal shoving that pleasure into their body, making their chest feel full and warm like a bath brought to the brim and ready to overflow. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo said. “Say my name. Tell me what you want.” 

Kenma moaned. There was something delirious in being commanded like that, ordered around by this mortal who seemed to intuit their body’s every need. 

“Kuroo,” they said. “Kuroo. Harder.” 

Kuroo pumped harder, fingers leaping to obey. The friction lit a spark that flared within Kenma. Everything inside them pulled in tight and close. They gripped the bedsheets, lowering their face to the mattress, rocking their hips with every jolting jab of Kuroo’s fingers. 

“Kuroo,” they moaned. “It feels so good. Oh God.” 

They gasped, whining with each breath, high notes of distressing ecstasy. How could something feel so good and so terrifying all at once? It was like they were about to explode, tearing apart their new body, rupturing from the pleasure. 

It arrived all at once, shocking as a burst of sunlight through bunched up fists of cloud. Kenma shouted, their voice loud even to themself, and jerked forward as though shocked with electricity. They stuttered and shuddered, thrusting forward as the waves beat out of them and they spilled in splatters onto the sheets. 

“I’ve got you,” Kuroo said as they trembled. “I’ve got you.” 

Kuroo eased his fingers out, letting Kenma sink onto the mattress atop the wetness they’d created themself. For a terrible moment he was gone, then his hand returned, clean and dry, to trickle up and down Kenma’s back, the fingertips tickling along their skin. 

Kenma panted against the mattress, body still hot but rapidly cooling. They couldn’t quite manage to move, not yet. The muscle and bone that made this new body did not respond when Kenma tried, leaving them there under Kuroo’s gentle, wandering touch. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Kuroo said. 

Something in his voice roused Kenma, a warmth and longing that had Kenma startling up. They sat, spinning around to face Kuroo. 

“I’m sorry,” Kenma said. “I didn’t expect to … I didn’t expect it to be quite like that.” 

“I’m OK,” Kuroo said. He was still hard, but when Kenma reached for him he stayed their hand. “Lay down and rest. You seem like you need it.”

“I haven’t reciprocated what you did for me,” Kenma said.

“I don’t mind.” Kuroo leaned forward, carding through Kenma’s hair, kissing down their neck. “Pay me back next time.” 

Kenma smiled at that, even as Kuroo slipped away. Next time. They nestled under the covers, naked beneath the sheets, but warm and comfortable despite that. They might have drowsed off as they waited for Kuroo. At some point, water hissed in the bathroom. Shortly after, Kuroo returned, a little rosy in the cheeks. 

He stripped off the top sheet, the one Kenma had soiled, then crawled into bed. They lay on their sides, facing each other, close on the narrow mattress clearly meant for one. Kuroo ran his fingers through Kenma’s hair, tucking it behind their ear over and over in a motion that left Kenma’s eyes heavy and body warm. 

“Kuroo.”

“Hm?” he said.

“I think,” Kenma said, “that being mortal won’t be so terrible.”

Kenma heard more than saw Kuroo’s smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kenma said. 

“You know, I have to say,” Kuroo said, “ I’m feeling a lot more optimistic about this whole ‘mortal existence’ thing too.”

He leaned forward, kissing Kenma on the nose, a strange yet affectionate gesture. There were so many such things Kenma had to learn now, so many little gestures and phrases and subtleties they’d have to pick up to make their way through this world. But as Kuroo held them close and they drifted asleep against his chest, that prospect did not worry them.

**Author's Note:**

> [LINK TO MY PARTNER'S INCREDIBLE ART](https://twitter.com/Lady_tyburn/status/1365767221381890049). Please go look at it, retweet it, etc. It's so incredibly gorgeous. I got so ridiculously lucky. Lady_Tyburn was the most wonderful partner I could have asked for. I had a great experience with the whole BB. <3
> 
> \--
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


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